This week has seemed long and kind of uneventful. In reality, plenty of things have happened: I went to the dentist, AND the gym. My sister came home for a few days, but she was so busy that I barely saw her. I played some ultimate frisbee, volleyball, and sticky-noted my friend’s car. I babysat a girl who pulled a tooth out and promptly put every white towel in the house into her mouth to soak up the blood. I did some cleaning, some reading, watched the Olympics.

So I have already mentioned that I grow stuff, yet I have never proven it. Partially because the good folks at Bon Apetit, our cafeteria's caterers, buy all the stuff, before I can even take pictures.

However, a day or two ago, I went around campus, armed with these goods, on a wheelbarrow, and sold this stuff to the staff at the College. It was a sight to see little old me in my welders goggles pusing a wheelbarrow loaded with vegetables which had been picked less then half an hour before being sold.

One of the constant things I've found myself pondering across college life is the question of "home": how we create it, and where we find it. Over the past week, I've been lending my sunburned body to both friends and family to the familiar game of hauling boxes, hurdling truck-beds, and the highs-and-lows of jamming furniture inside unyielding doorframes. I like offering to help; you get to share in some of the satisfaction that arises from structuring a place where people live.

A few days ago, I made my first trip back to C of I's campus since leaving last year's Baccalaureate ceremony. I had received a couple of e-mails earlier in the week that had encouraged me to stop by Caldwell, and funnily enough, they both involved receiving stuff I had been expecting for a while. With the promise of an old music binder and a new camera waiting for me, I made the half hour trek from Meridian to the college, which happened to be much more quiet since my last visit.

At 10:08 on the morning of August 6th I recieved a text message...which took a not-so-close second to my pillow as I pressed "Ignore" and rolled back into my pillow for another hour or so of sleep on my day off.

Summer means three things to many an American teenager: a summer job, swimming, and snow cones. My summer has all three of those things wrapped in one—I’ve spent part of my time working at Borah Pool, a public swimming pool that just happens to have an adjacent snow cone shack.

So my first summer in Idaho is progressing and is sadly almost over for me. Soon soccer will start and I will be doing 2 a day sessions in the Caldwell heat as we prepare for this year’s season of Women's Soccer. However before I am tied down in one place, I have been lucky to do some more exploring of this lovely state.